


The Alphas

by therecognitionscene



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therecognitionscene/pseuds/therecognitionscene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha Series is a series of songs by The Mountain Goats that follows a married couple as their relationship slowly crumbles and eventually deteriorates. There will be one drabble for each song believed to be in the Alpha Series, following the relationship of Jim and Sebastian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chino Love Song 1979

_I saw you against the soda machine.  
I saw you leaning there._

"You’re a mess, aren’t you? Homeless, drunk, high on God knows what. You’ve fallen so far and you believe you’ll never rise up again."

The man’s lips crooked up in a smug grin, as if he knew all the secrets in the world, and Sebastian could do nothing but look up at that impeccably tailored suit and those dark, dead eyes, the damp of the dirty pavement underneath him soaking into his clothing. His head was pounding and the world was spinning; when he tried to sit up, he doubled over and shook with dry-heaves. 

"Oh, Sebastian," the stranger sighed, though his tone sounded fond and almost familiar, not patronizing or disgusted. "You’re in for Hell, you are. But I know you want it. Come now, up. On your feet. Time to get going."

The recently discharged colonel scowled and spit out a wad of blood—a remnant of his earlier pub brawl— and managed to get on his hands and knees. “Tha fuck y’mean? Where—Where m’I going? Who tha fuck _are_ you?”

Nice Suit crouched down in front of him and caught his chin between forefinger and thumb; Sebastian had to resist the urge to drop his gaze when those dark orbs locked onto his. “We,” the stranger purred, “are going to your new home, where you’ll stay until all these nasty toxins have worked their way out of your system. Now, up up up. Time is precious. Never enough of it.”

Sebastian rose, shaky and dizzy as Nice Suit strolled away from him towards a sleek dark car waiting at the end of the alley. He hesitated, for just a moment, before the small man in front of him snapped his fingers, and before he knew what was happening, Sebastian was following. Like a damned dog."

"Good boy," Nice Suit cooed as he held the door open for Sebastian. "I knew you wouldn’t disappoint." He slid into the back seat as well and gave the soldier a terrifyingly mad smile. "You can call me Boss. Or Sir. Understood?"

As the car drove off down the dimly lit street, Sebastian gave Nice Suit a good long look, and finally nodded. 

"Yes Sir. Understood."

The boss just laughed, and laughed, and laughed.


	2. One Winter at Point Alpha Privative

_What the hell kind of deal is it here anyway? How much does it cost and how long can you stay? Should we dance? Should we sing? Should we curse? Should we pray?_

_Do I have to hang on every single word that you say?_

——————————————-

"So all I’ve gotta do… Is anything and everything you tell me to do…"

Boss cracked half a smile and Sebastian nearly shivered; smiles never did look right on his employer’s face. Not that he’d seen many of them in the past month since Nice Suit took him in, but he’d seen enough to know he’d piss his pants in fear of the sight if he were any less of a man.

The ex-soldier shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, gazing at the dark head of hair visible over the top of Boss’ laptop as he waited patiently for the criminal’s attention to fall back on him. They were at one of Boss’ spare flats, in his study, and it was the nicest room Sebastian had ever stepped foot in, at least since his days at Oxford. The carpet was plush underfoot and the desk was a rich mahogany. And if this was how the Irishman kept his side flats, Sebastian could only imagine what his main apartment must look like. 

Sebastian’s own new flat—courtesy of the Boss man— was modest, but clean and well decorated. Boss promised him better accommodations once he’d proven himself; not that Sebastian was going to complain, certainly not when he finally had a real bed again. Though he had been curious as to what ‘proving himself’ entailed and had been more than a bit relieved when Sir finally called him in to discuss his employment.

"Anything and everything," Boss echoed, his dark eyes still locked on his laptop as his pale fingers clicked away at the keys. "If I tell you to run, you’ll ask how far. If I tell you to swim, you’ll ask ‘Thames or Atlantic’. If I tell you to jump, you’ll—"

"Say how high?" Sebastian interjected, grinning at his own pop culture reference. Boss simply shot him a withering glare, and the Colonel cleared his throat. "Sorry, Sir. Go on."

"You were the best shot Her Majesty’s Armed Forces had seen in quite some time. You were a brutal, ruthless soldier, a well-feared leader among the ranks, and an efficient killer. Though your disregard for authority when authority’s plans don’t match yours is a tad concerning. Oh yes, I know all about the discharge, Colonel. Just know that I will beat any willful disobedience out of you, should the need arise," Boss said, cool and calm as if he was discussing the weather. "I’m in need of a trained sniper. An assassin who can kill from hundreds of yards away as easily as he can in close-combat with a knife. Think you can fill that opening?"

Boss’ tone left no room for argument from Sebastian, not that the blond was actually going to say anything other than ‘hell fucking yes’. Truth be told, he missed his army days: the hot desert sun, the smell of fresh blood, the heavy weight of a gun in his hands. Civilian jobs would have bored him right to death, and almost did: the simple monotony of it all had driven him right to the bottle and needle. But this. This seemed.. Perfect. Kill, and be paid to do so. Plus a free flat? And new clothes? And the sweet promise of power?

"Course I can, Sir," Sebastian replied, all confidence and smug attitude as he smirked at his Boss across the desk. "Just gimme a gun and a target, and I’ll be your man."

Boss leaned back in his chair, something akin to sick amusement lighting up his eyes. “Yes. You will be, won’t you?… Get out of my sight. You’ll get your equipment and your first job within the week.” Sebastian stood and hurried to obey.

Long after the Colonel had left, Jim still sat at his desk, his hands steepled under his chin as a lazy smirk sat on his face. He had his file on Sebastian open on his desk, a picture of his new sniper right on top so he could stare at it.

"Sebastian…" he murmured, running a finger over the glossy image. "My man…. _Mine_.”


End file.
